


Monsters Like Us

by Katrina_Linden



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Merlin Rare Pairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 02:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrina_Linden/pseuds/Katrina_Linden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written (late) as part of the Merlin Secret Santa 2015 for Rie on Tumblr, prompt: Two serial killers/high profile robbers traveling the world and kissing each other's blood-stained mouths. Anything with them being completely devoted to each other and being snuggly and protective and yes, if you can squeeze in hardcore smut, you'll make my life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'll start off by saying I'm so bloody sorry for how late this is. I have no excuses, and hope none of your other Christmas presents are as disappointing as mine. I hope you like it anyway, it was a lot of fun to explore the serial killer trope.

Blood dripped down Merlin’s fingers, each digit stained red, a pool forming on the ground. Merlin liked to savour the quiet, the peace after a kill. It was as if the lack of one heartbeat could silence, just for a moment, all the noise of the rest of the world.

A quiet sobbing cut through the peace. Merlin blinked , and everything returned to normal. Loud, messy, uncontrollable _normal_. The girl who'd made the noise, no older than fourteen, huddled against the wall, her short legs drawn to her chest , shaking. Her eyes never left the dead body, her hair dripping with blood -her own as well as Kanen’s. Merlin had spent two months tracking down the man, and had found him almost too easily. Careless, sure that no-one, not even the police, could catch him.

Not that the police would, but Merlin wasn't the police. Now his body lay cooling in a warehouse by the Thames, in the place of yet of another sex slave. Merlin’s job was almost finished.

The weeping girl wouldn’t look at him, just as afraid of the strange, masked man as she was of her rapist. Merlin ignored her in favour of his phone, dialling a familiar number as he pressed a cotton pad to the phone’s microphone. 

“Chiswick Police station, how can I assist you?”

“I need to speak to Pendragon,” Merlin told the receptionist.

She paused, as though looking up the name, before responding. “I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment, could I make an appoint-”

“Tell him it’s Emrys.”

Again there was a pause, and Merlin couldn’t help but grin at the fear in the women’s voice as she said “you’re _Emrys_?” 

“May I please speak to Arthur Pendragon?” Merlin repeated, voice sickly sweet.

“I-uh, hold on a minute.” The phone beeped as she put Merlin on hold.

Still hunched up in the corner, the girl had stopped sobbing and was now watching Merlin out of the corner of her eye. Merlin ignored her- some psychologist would see to her once the cops got here, and they’d do a far better job that him at fixing whatever problems she had. 

His fingers were still bloody, and Merlin played with the hardening liquid, morbidly fascinated with how sticky it was. “Arthur Pendragon,” a gruff voice introduced after a moment longer.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, voice lower than normal, in the unlikely case he was still recognisable through the cotton. “How’s upholding the law of the common good going for you?”

“Get to the point, Emrys.”

Hmm, that was new. Usually Arthur would try and draw out their conversation. “Have you given up trying to track me, Arthur? I’m glad, you could always ask where I am.”

A pause. “Where are you?

“Just north of the Thames, in a warehouse. There’s a lovely view of a nature reserve across the river, or there was during the day.”

“Leg of Mutton reserve?” Arthur asked.

With a grin, Merlin paced the length of the room. “Is that what they’ve called it? Christ. No imagination.”

“And if I go through all the warehouses across the Thames from the Leg reserve, what would I find?”

“A body,” Merlin admitted, looking down at Kanen. He still had that snide smile, the one he'd made when skinny little Merlin had gotten in his way. “Kanen Matthews, suspected connections to human trafficking. And a girl, between twelve and fifteen, local- most likely part of his next batch of cargo.”

"Is she hurt? What did you do?” Arthur was close to yelling

“Saved her. Killed her rapist, and I am now ensuring you come here and take her away from a life of miserable slavery. You’re _welcome._ ”

“As if I’d ever thank you, murderer,” Arthur spat. “Just because someone’s done wrong, doesn’t mean you're any less of a murderer.” Merlin rolled his eyes and stepped out of the warehouse into the chill night, laughter bubbling in his throat. “You could save a thousand lost girls, Emrys, and you’d still be a poisonous bastard that I _will_ see pay for your crimes. You don’t get to play god- you’re just some sick bastard who thinks he’s better-”

Merlin was still laughing when the cheap phone hit the bottom of the Thames. He ran through London with a smile plastered on his face, his hood down and scarf fallen from his head and face. To all the world, he was nothing but a night-time jogger. Arthur had threatened Merlin to his face -or ear- more times than even he knew. He could sift through the entirety of London and never find ‘Emrys’. No one ever would.

Merlin kept grinning all the way to his apartment, the thrill of the fight -blood crusted on his fingers, Arthur's threat -wrong, they'd never take his freedom; it all filled him with an odd type of euphoria that he was pretty sure most people never felt. Murder was the most primal of actions. It was the base knowledge that your life held more value than anything else. In any second, a single move could end it all; stop a heart, still lungs, create the end of an entire life. The story of a single person would end with your name on the final page. 

Merlin fumbled with his keys, stepping inside the warm apartment quickly, grateful for the warmth his heater provided. Gloves fell to the floor, kicked aside as he hurried into the kitchen, flicking on lights as he went. It wasn’t until he reached the kettle that he noticed anything was wrong, the mug sitting innocently on his counter, the coffee it held still warm.

“Hello?” He called out. His hand slid from the light switch to the knife still in his pocket. No reply. Merlin stepped forward, cautious.

A shadow shifted in the hall. “Are you scared, _Emrys_?”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. The knife slipped from his hand. “I didn’t know you were back in the country.”

The shadow moved into the kitchen, turning into a woman, her brown hair loose and curling around her face. “Did you miss me?

“Every day.” Merlin couldn’t help but smile. “How was China?”

Freya grinned; feral, monstrous. “Fun.” Merlin thought of bodies, of blood and the loudness of busy Chinese cities gone quiet, and envied her. She seemed to notice his mood, and moved forward with graceful steps. “Come with me, next time I leave.”

“Where will we go?” Freya didn’t stop moving and Merlin stepped back, pressing into the kitchen counter. She slipped closer and widened her feral smile, face inches from his.

“Wherever you want.” Still so very close, she traced hands around his neck, across his torso, down his arms. Fingers moving with muscle memory over familiar planes. “I always wanted to go to Kenya,” she said. “Or Greece. Sydney, Dublin, Jakarta.” Her left hand fell to his right, where his nails were tinged red. She brought the hand up to her face. “There’s people to kill everywhere in the world,” she told him, and sucked his pointer finger into her mouth, tongue swirling around, tasting iron tang of blood.

“Freya,” Merlin gasped. She grinned, just as feral, but in a different sense. “Gods you’re going to be the death of me,” Merlin groaned, and pulled her into a kiss.

When Merlin pulled back, Freya wasn’t smiling. She didn’t meet his eyes as she cupped his cheek, thumb tracing over his cheekbone. “Merlin,” she said. Her voice was just a sigh; a single breath full of regret, and longing for everything she couldn’t have. 

He wanted to hold her. To be by her side for as long as it took to convince her she didn’t need to leave. That he loved her.

_“Monsters like us don’t get to love, Merlin.”_

Merlin wanted lots of things. He wanted the world to be quiet. He wanted his mother back, for time to reverse back to that night. He wanted to save Morgana from the demons in her dreams, he wanted Arthur to stay innocent, noble. Because if Merlin couldn’t believe the world was a good place, at least someone could.

But most of all, right now, he wanted to see Freya happy. “Oh, my beautiful monster,” he whispered. “Will you stay?”

Freya nodded, a shadow of a smile brushing her lips. “Of course.” A lie. But one Merlin let himself believe.

He kissed her again. A brush of lips, warm and teasing. Freya pushed back, her thin frame deceptively strong. One arm pinned his waist to the counter, the other pulled his head down. She kissed like it was a fight, a back-and-forth of pressing, of licks and bites. Merlin let her have her way with him, let himself forget what lay before, and behind. 

She drew back just enough to grin, eyes twinkling, before she leant forward and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Merlin groaned at the flash of pain, and again as the iron tang of blood filled his mouth. Freya hummed in response, enjoying the taste as much as he.

“Bed,” Merlin managed to gasp. Freya nodded and led the way.

Merlin’s flat was small and messy, with no more than four rooms in total, but even had he somehow been able to afford a fifty-room mansion, Freya would be able to find his bedroom without hesitation- whilst walking backwards and kissing every few steps. He didn’t notice when they reached his bed, huffing a surprised breath when she pushed him and the back of his knees hit the mattress. She climbed over him once he'd fallen, quick as a cat, until she was straddling his hips. 

“Freya,” Merlin breathed, staring up at her face, framed by her falling hair. She was so beautiful, all pale skin and wide eyes, every feature full of child-like innocence that, had it ever truly existed in her, had been stamped out long before they met. 

He opened his mouth, not sure of what he wanted to say. Freya covered his lips with her hands. “Don’t,” she told him. “Don’t talk, don’t think.” She waited until he nodded before moving her hand to her shirt, and pulling it off. “Stay still,” she ordered.

Merlin let himself watch, didn’t move as she stripped off the rest of her clothing and began working at his. He didn’t make a sound until she started kissing his neck, and then his chest, biting between every few kisses. She licked at one of his nipples, before biting, and he groaned, fingers gripping the sheet below him. She grinned at that, her mouth still pressed against his chest, before moving lower, to where a trail of hair began just above his jeans. Hands slid along his waist, lingering at the ticklish parts above his hipbones just to make him squirm, before removing his jeans as quickly as she’d removed his shirt. 

Merlin almost gave up keeping still when her hands -and mouth- bypassed his crotch and fell down to his legs. “Stop teasing,” he growled, when Freya stroked nimble fingers everywhere but where he wanted her to touch most. She shushed him and continued her torturous route, nibbling at the crease of his thigh until the skin there burned, almost a distraction from the desperate _need_ for her to touch his cock.

“Please-” he gasped, cutting himself off at the last second when Freya looked up and moved away from his cock. 

Her hair tickled his nose as she leaned over his head. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Her voice had the same laughing-mocking tone that he’d seen her use on victims the moment she turned from innocent and sweet to ferocious and deadly. Merlin had spent hours admiring that voice, the slightest smirk and the hint of fury in her eyes that went with it. He had once been able to think up a thousand words to describe it, he was sure he could, but all his muddled brain could come up with now was _want_.

“Freya,” he moaned. “ _Please_.”

Her face softened into a look of adoration. She moved a bit of hair out of Merlin’s eyes. “I love you,” she breathed, so soft he almost didn’t hear. 

Merlin froze. He stared, unable to find words to explain how he felt in return, a sentiment he had always known existed, but never found the courage to say. _Monster’s can’t love, can only take..._ Warm heat around his cock stole Merlin’s breath before he could respond, and he could only stare up with wide eyes as Freya rode him. Gone was any pretense of teasing, her nails dug into his sides as she moved, as if by being harsh, by not giving pause for thought or breath, he’d forget what she said. Merlin didn’t think he could ever forget, repeated the words over and over in his head as he came; _I love you, I love you, I love you, Freya..._

* * *

 

In the morning, Freya was gone. Like a dream one could almost believe was real. The only proof of her existence was the bruises and scratches still healing on Merlin’s body. He took the time to catalogue each one, trying not to think, mind steadfastly turned to the day ahead, to the life he pretended to live. 

The one without Freya.

At some point, though, he had to get up. Merlin stumbled towards the kitchen, knees knocking against the table -they must have pushed it out of its normal place. He stumbled past towards the kettle, fumbling without looking for the switch. His fingers brushed something hot, burning his skin at the touch. “Fuck,” Merlin swore, shaking the injured hand and glaring at the cause.

A mug, brimming with steaming coffee. Beside it sat a post-it-note, black ink messily scrawled over the fluro blue paper. _Kenya’s too hot- how about Sydney?_ Beneath the words was a messy sketch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Merlin didn’t count the minutes, but by the time he stopped staring at the note in disbelief -then with a forceful kind of happiness that Merlin wanted to call love- his coffee was lukewarm. He drained it in one go, then picked up his phone.

“Mordred, hi. Remember that favour you owe me? I need a one-way ticket to Sydney, Australia.”


End file.
